


Catch Me If I Fall (I'm Losing Hold)

by imtheonekeepingyoualive (frerardestiel)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blood and Gore, Buffy the Vampire Slayer References, Canon-Typical Violence, Derek Takes Care Of Stiles, Graphic Description of Corpses, Heavy Angst, M/M, Magic, Stiles Takes Care Of Derek, Temporary Character Death, Violence, a little not really something horrorific but it's there!, stiles is like willow in buffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-15 13:52:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2231499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frerardestiel/pseuds/imtheonekeepingyoualive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You know that Derek was the love of my life," he whispered, voice gritty and hands shaking. "You would do the same if it was Allison," added spiteful, wanting to hurt.</p><p>*</p><p>Derek's dead and Stiles brings him back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catch Me If I Fall (I'm Losing Hold)

**Author's Note:**

> Read the end notes for trigger warnings please! Also, spoilers for the story.
> 
> Thanks to my wonderful beta Charlie_Bb, I love you <3
> 
> (you can find me crying on tumblr at imtheonekeepingyoualive)

 

"Stiles, please stop," Scott begged, tried to hold Stiles in his arms, tight but not _too_ tight – Stiles was so out of it he could barely feel his best friend's arms.

"Let me go!" Stiles kept shouting, clawing at Scott's hands where they were curled around him protectively. "Fuck, Scott, let me go!"

"I can't!" Scott said, pulled him back more firmly against his body. "I know what you're trying to do and I can't let that happen."

Stiles felt anger and hurt bubble up, filling his head with electricity; black, red, white. Kaboom. His magic erupted from his palms in a blinding aura and Scott ended up flying through the air, clashing into a wall with a sick crack of bones and wood. Stiles was panting and crying when he realized what he had done, but he was still so mad, always so mad he was shaking with it, feeling sick with agony and too much power and grief.

Scott looked up at him from where he was sprawled on the floor, with pitying big eyes and Stiles _hated_ it, hated the fact that Derek was not there and Scott was trying to stop him.

" _You know_ that Derek was the love of my life," he whispered, voice gritty and hands shaking. "You would do the same if it was Allison," added spiteful, wanting to hurt.

Scott didn't say anything for a long moment, just stared at Stiles with this expression on his face, this fucking torn expression that made Stiles' blood boil in his veins and his magic crackle from his fingertips, creating tiny sparkles and fzzt sounds. Stiles hated it. His chest hurt so fucking much.

"Stiles, bringing someone back from the dead is black magic. You can't. You don't know what is gonna happen, only that it won't be good," Scott slowly got up and dusted himself off. "You know Derek won't ever be _Derek_ again, you don't know how he's gonna come back. How- If... Just don't do it."

Stiles sniffed and dried his face off with the sleeve of his plaid shirt, lowering his gaze to hide the fresh tears in his eyes. Scott just didn't get it; the pain and the hollow in your chest from knowing that the love of your life just died and you had the power to bring him back. Stiles _could_ , and will. No matter what.

Nobody was going to stop him, whatever it took.

"I'm not going to say sorry, Scott. I will bring Derek back, and you can't stop me."

*

Derek died on a Thursday.

Thinking about it now, it's funny how death is always so sudden – even if they lived their lives fighting dangerous creatures and always in mortal peril, everytime he thinks about it... It feels like Derek was there and then, not even a second later, he wasn't anymore.

One second he was figthing another Alpha and then, one second later, he was lying on the floor of that dirty abandoned elevator; pale face and closed eyes. He looked like he was just sleeping, not a bruise or a cut, nothing.

Stiles remembered the fight, snippets and sounds of it – the roars and the crackling of his magic, remembered keeping an eye on Derek, always looking out for him no matter what or where, when the Alpha from the other pack charged Stiles and he had to take care of it.

He turned his eyes for  _ one millisecond. _

That's all it took. Or, that's what it felt like. Just a fragment of a moment that tore everything he ever held dear away from him.

When he looked back at Derek, in the elevator, he couldn't find him. He looked around, afraid and panicky and, when he couldn't find him anywhere else, he started calling for him.

“Derek!” Stiles shouted, his fingers trembling and sweaty. “Derek!”

He ran towards the elevator and there he was, lying on his back, a kind of peaceful expression on his face. Stiles felt the sounds of the battle all around him fade away, an insistent ringing in his ears taking place. He felt cold all over, an uneasiness almost choking him, like a terrible feeling. Something was definitely wrong and he didn't want to know what it was.

He rushed to Derek's side and took his face in both his hands, shaking and on the verge of a heart attack, breath short like after a long run and heart going a mile a minute. What alarmed Stiles the most was the fact that Derek wasn't running hot anymore, he was almost cold, tiepid. Startling.

“Jesus Christ, Derek!” cried out, rubbing his thumbs all over Derek's beard, his cheekbones, his lips. “C'mon Derek! C'mon!”

He slapped him once, twice, three times, harder harder, but Derek was still motionless under him. So he raised his fist and punched him, felt his hand spasm with pain at the hit, but did it again, again; shouting “Wake up! Please!” and crying, but Derek didn't open his eyes. “Please, oh God, please!”

Derek was dead.

What happened after that, Stiles wasn't sure. It was all a blur of tears and feeling sick to his stomach and the texture of Derek's shirt in his fingers, his broad chest under Stiles' cheek, still, so still. Scott's arms around him, lifting him up and his own struggle to not let Derek go.

He ripped Derek's shirt trying to hold on. But Derek didn't glower at him and Stiles didn't smile back as usual.

*

Getting his hands on the book where he could find the spell was easy, really.

He started thinking about it as soon as he realized that Derek was really gone. That he wouldn't be able to see him anymore, not frowning, not smiling; wouldn't be able to hug him, kiss him, or just plainly feel his presence beside him; the heat of his body or the surprisingly soft scruff on his chin; he felt his absence like a literal hole in his body, filled with grief and terrible rage and the  _ crack crack cracks _ of his magic. He never fully realized how much space Derek occupied in him, in his (their) life until he lost it.

The loft felt huge and cold and too much; couldn't bear to live there, sleep there in the bed where they spent days and nights fucking and laughing and reading, even looking at the kitchen made him sick, he always ended up rushing to the bathroom to vomit when he tought of all the breakfasts and lunches and dinners, the food tasted better that the carton type Scott and Melissa and his dad always tried to feed him.

He couldn't cry anymore, didn't have enough tears left in him, probably finished them in that fucking elevator or that same night, when he remembered the feel of Derek's body under him. Everybody tiptoed around him, shot him looks and half formed words that never got finished; he felt like a shell of a person, like the only thing in his body was his magic begging to be freed and the hammering thoughts of  _ how I wish you were here, Derek, I'm sorry, Derek _ .

Not even a second went by where he didn't think of how he could get Derek back, spent hours gazing out of the window of his childhood bedroom, plotting and then researching. He found some pretty useful spells but he couldn't get his hands on some of the ingredients requested and he didn't want to wait months and months before he could bring the love of his life back. Two weeks had passed by then and it felt like a lifetime.

His dad tried to talk him out of it, knew where he was heading with this, but Stiles couldn't listen to another spiel, not even when his dad used the mom card against him. That only made him really angry and he ended up blowing half his room up.

He felt really terribly alone for the first time in his life. His friends and family didn't understand why he wanted to do this and why he didn't want to listen to them. He just couldn't and wouldn't. He had enough power to get Derek back and he didn't care what he'd have to do to do so. Literally gave zero fucks. The guilt was eating him inside and, everytime someone tried to make him change his mind, the idea of doing the spell solified in his mind. Until he reached the point where he was going on solely through sheer force of will – he wasn't sleeping, or eating, or doing anything that wasn't obsessively planning.

He found the perfect spell at Lydia's shop, after perusing the bookshelves during a calm afternoon. Lydia was the only one who didn't try to stop Stiles, never actually tried to help him but also never said anything to him. Stiles knew she still missed Jackson and, even if their situations were completely different – Jackson simply left for London and never came back, Derek left completely this plane of existence – the feeling of longing was the same. Lydia just watched him from behind the counter, green eyes sad and assessing, never once opening her mouth to say anything; left him alone most of the time. Just once she approached him and sat beside him, said, “I can't stop you,” and Stiles knew what she meant, that she wanted to but couldn't. “This is terribly wrong and dangerous, but I still can't stop you.” Stiles didn't look up from the huge tome in his hands, but could see the shape of her from the corner of his eye, could make out the dark green color of her dress and the shine of her hair. When she got up to talk to a customer, she whispered, “read the one under the counter.”

*

Derek got back on a Tuesday.

Precisely two months after he died.

Getting him back was the easiest but hardest thing Stiles ever did. In all his life.

The spell was kind of simple, really. A lot of words in gaelic and herbs and power of will, plus a lot of Cora's blood, too. The spell required, if possible, the blood of a relative and Stiles thought of Cora immediately. He could have asked Peter, but he didn't trust him, not to help Stiles bring Derek back sane and whole – Peter was evil and broken and using his blood would've meant using something rotten. But Cora was perfect. He called her in the middle of the night, all alone in the loft, surrounded by torn pieces of paper, pages filled with messy words and roots, leaves, candles. She picked up after the fourth ring, snappy and short tempered as Stiles remembered.

“What,” she said, in a clipped tone. “Stilinski, I swear to God if this isn't important-”

“I need your help,” he then whispered, cutting her off. She stopped immediately, probably sensing something or alarmed by his gruffy tone, voice ruined by days of complete silence. “I... I made a mistake and I need your help.”

There was a long moment of heavy silence, Stiles' shallow breathing the only thing interrupting it, and then Cora said, “Help with what?” in a strange tone, like she already knew someway.

“I have to bring Derek back.”

“Back from where?”

Stiles took a deep breath and then surveyed all he put together for the spell, the flickering flames of the candles, the torn out pages of useless books.

“Death.”

So she ran back to Beacon Hills, literally stormed through the door of the loft and demanded explanations, what happened and how Stiles wanted to fix things. She was adamant that they do the spell, she didn't listen to Scott when he tried to stop them, the same way Stiles did the first time – she ended up screaming and throwing Scott around just like Stiles did. She was furious and shaky and terrified – terrifying, in her growls and hurting touches. Pushed Stiles to the limit.

But that Stiles could do, he could stand Cora's harsh words and judgemental eyes, he could give all his power, anything really, if it meant Derek alive again.  
  
The night of the spell, Stiles burned every ingredient to ashes and then asked Cora for her blood. She didn't even flinch when Stiles cut her arm, a deep gash running through her skin, mixed the ashes and the blood together.

Putting that in a vial and carrying it to the cemetery, that was harder.

Digging up Derek's coffin, was literally a nightmare.

He had to stop two times because he was crying and gagging from too much crying, before he could finish the spell. Even Cora was strangely silent, no harsh words or growls. They were both messes. He didn't know how he opened it and looked at Derek's corpse, rotting and awful, absolutely awful. He sobbed out loud and fell on his knees, cried so hard his lungs burned, emptied his stomach until nothing but bile was left. The stench of death was suffocating. Cora was a statue before him.

With shaking hands he grabbed the vial and uncorked it, poured the contents over Derek's body and then chanted the spell three times with a shot voice and snot running over his upper lip, his magic creating a bubble of dark shimmery power around him, all his essence praying for it to work,  _ come back come back come back. _

At first, nothing happened. Derek corpse was still haunting and terrifying, cold and ruined and dead. Stiles covered his mouth with his hand and shut his eyes, gutted and angry. But then he felt the shift in the atmosphere, the pull of his magic reaching out to adjust what was wrong, heard the thunder in the sky and felt the rain wash over him and Derek.

He opened his eyes and saw that with every drop, Derek was slowly coming back, like a purifying shower. His skin was knitting back together and his eyes regaining color, then life. It was the longest time before Derek's body was completely back to normal, plump lips and eyelashes and dark hair all back in place, like time didn't matter, death defying, a force more powerful than life and natural laws themselves.

Stiles held his breath, looking over him, amazed and full of happiness and joy and wonder, until Derek made the greatest sound Stiles ever heard.

He gasped and then coughed.

Derek was back.

*

All those rumors that people brought back from death were never the same, were  _ kinda _ false. Derek was still Derek, in all the little details – from his multicolored eyes to his habit of touching Stiles whenever possible.  _ Kinda _ , because Derek didn't really talk since Stiles did the spell. He never was one for a lot of words, even before, but now he never talked – not to Stiles, not to Cora, not to anybody.

He said twentytwo words total since tuesday. Stiles counted. He said, “Stiles,” the most, with a wondering voice, kind fingers on Stiles' face that made him crumble and cry; he said it when he saw Stiles at the cemetery, when they held on to each other for minutes after the spell, when Stiles made him get in the bathtub at home and joined him inside, when Stiles wrapped Derek's arms around himself and made him hold on tight.

He said “I was cold,” one night, Stiles' fingers running through his hair, the world outside sleeping and them wrapped up in each other, never leaving the other alone for too long.

“It was all black,” after one painful dinner with the Sheriff, Melissa and Scott, who disapproved of what Stiles did but couldn't really be unhappy with the outcome, not when Derek was flesh and bones before their very eyes. Derek didn't really say anything at all, just ate something and held Stiles' hand under the table. Hugged Melissa awkwardly for a moment when they said goodbye and it almost felt like old times. The haunted look in Derek's eyes was a reminder, though.

“What happened?” asked one morning, untouched breakfast in front of him. “I think I remember the fight, I was...” and then stopped, frowning. “I'm not really sure.”

And Stiles couldn't look him in the eyes anymore, had to lower his gaze on the table and be quiet, eyes stinging from tears and a heavy heart.

Derek never asked again.

*

“Is he Derek? Really Derek?”

Stiles snapped the book shut and said, “ _ Yes, _ ” thunder in his eyes, in his heart.

*

The nights were the worst part. During the day, they always found something to do, but at night.

Stiles hated them.

Sometimes Derek didn't even close his eyes, just laid in bed with Stiles or on the couch with Cora, and just. Stared. Stiles guessed it was too much to ask, for Derek to be soundly asleep next to him, with no problem running through his mind. But he still worried about him, spent the majority of time staring at him and wanting to reach out and hold him close, hug him.

Phisically, Derek was more than okay. The spell brought him back whole and perfect, like he was before – but everything else, was tainted. His mind was a minefield.

Stiles couldn't eat much these days, his stomach in a knot that never seemed to go away. Always caught Derek looking at him often when he thought Stiles wouldn't notice, sad expression on his face and eyes roaming across Stiles' body. Often found Derek staring at nothing, in complete silence, for hours, like a robot. Always accepted Stiles' affections, closed his eyes everytime Stiles touched him in comfort and liked to run his thumb over Stiles' lower lip. Sometimes it felt like time didn't pass at all, like they were getting to know each other for the first time all over again – Stiles loved the quiet moments where they were just gazing at each other, naked in bed, kissing slowly and making love. It felt the most like Derek was really back, completely, in love with Stiles and Stiles felt like crying in joy.

But this wasn't really his Derek. He was Derek, yes, but not his.

He didn't sass Stiles back, didn't hold him so tight he left bruises on his hips when they fucked, never smiled smugly when Stiles gasped and threw his head back. He was always touching Stiles with kind fingers, soft feathers of touch like he was afraid of spooking him or break him, Stiles didn't know. It angered Stiles so much, thinking about it. He felt like a ball of barely contained energy, electric magic crackling all around him, red rimmed eyes cold and shiny, heart heavy like a stone.

Sometimes he blew things up when he was angry, bursts of energy that frightened the ones around him. He never knew it was gonna happen, not until a vase or a mug exploded in a million tiny pieces all over the floor. Once he broke all the frames in his dad's living room – photos of him and his dad and his mom together, all destroyed when Stiles got angry at his dad for asking him if Derek was okay for the hundredth time.  _ Is Derek really Derek? Is Derek okay? Does Derek need something? Can I help? Derek, Derek, Derek. _

Derek didn't need their help. Derek was perfectly fine, a little quieter, a little paler, but he was okay. He was okay, warm, big, frowny Derek. Stiles had it all under control.

*

He got up late one morning, too tired still from the sudden outburst the previous night.

He literally tore a building apart, debris and pieces of roof falling around them, Derek triying to stop him from completely losing control, hands on Stiles' face and worried eyes.

“Stiles!” Derek shouted, over the horrifying sounds coming from the now half house behind them.

It was like being underwater, Derek's voice almost too far away to make out. It was difficult to reign in all the power he could feel surrounding him and Derek, the energy electrifying and dangerous; Derek was getting shallow cuts and bruises on his cheeks and arms, just from holding Stiles' face in his hands and being so near to him. That was what caught Stiles' attention, the little drops of blood on Derek's skin, made him stop short, startle.  
  
“Derek?” Stiles murmured, confused.

“Yeah, come on, you can do it. Slowly.” Derek said, stroking Stiles' cheeks tenderly. Stiles looked down and saw the magic sprouting from his fingertips, gray and angry and he frowned. He didn't remember wanting to use his magic, he just – when they found the place where the enemy pack squatted while they were in Beacon Hills he felt so _so_ mad, so angry, he just wanted to find them and tear them apart. Hurt them for all the hurt they caused him and Derek and their family. Make them pay and scream and beg for forgiveness.

He now got back to himself, calmed down enough to let Derek hold his weight up when he almost fainted, drained from lack of energy he had to use to create such a powerful incantation. He felt shitty and ashamed. Like a newbie who couldn't control his own power. He made a mess. And his head hurt. A lot.

Derek tipped his head back, so he could look him in the eyes, but Stiles was too tired to really keep his eyes open.  
  
“What happened, Stiles?” Derek asked him, softly. His thumb brushed under his nose and came away wet with blood. Stiles frowned harder.

“I don't know. I was angry. I'm really sorry.”

Derek sighed, worried, but said nothing. He just looked back at Scott and the Sheriff on the sidelines, both staring at them and the ruins of the house in turn, and then grabbed Stiles under the knees and carried him away, careful not to jostle his too much. Stiles held tight to Derek's shoulders, cold and embarassed, and hid his face in Derek's neck until he slowly blacked out, nauseous and hurt.

He woke up late the following morning. The sheets were warm around him and the sun was almost peeking out from behind the clouds and he felt both sore and rested. He got up from the bed and went searching for Derek.

He found him and Cora at the table in the kitchen, softly speaking to each other still dressed in pajamas and with bedheads.

“I'm worried,” Derek was saying. “He's just so...”

“Stilinski is out of control, Derek. That's what it is.” Cora snapped, fingers hard around the mug in her hands. Stiles stopped short, just out the door, curious and hurt. They were talking about him when he wasn't there and that felt like a punch to his gut.

“He's not,” Derek replied, almost too quickly. “He's just stressed.”

Cora rolled her eyes and kicked Derek in the shin.

“You died and you're super chill,” she pointed out. “Seriously, he's freaking me out. He keeps losing control, Derek. Last night he could have hurt somebody, his Dad. Or you. Aga-” she cut herself off just in time, because Stiles knew what she was gonna say. He clenched his fists and gritted his teeth.

Derek was looking at her warily, but then turned to Stiles and he raised his eyebrows, surprised to see him standing there.

“Hey,” he whispered, reaching a hand out towards Stiles, “how are you feeling? How's your head?”

“Fine,” Stiles answered shortly, avoiding the contact for the moment. He went to grab a glass of milk instead, hiding his face and shame in the fridge.

“Do you remember what happened last night, Stilinski?”

Stiles sighed, annoyed, but closed the door and nodded, looking Cora straight in the eye.  
  
“I fucked up.”

Cora tsked and got up, harsh movements and tone of voice. “You sure did, make sure to get yourself back in check. I don't like where this is going. I don't trust you.”

That was the last straw. He frowned and tightened his grip on the carton of milk in his hand, mad, almost shaking, “Well, fuck you, Cora. You can leave if you feel that way.”

Cora laughed coldly, and said, “No fucking way, I'm not leaving my brother here with you like this.”

He took a step back, like Cora just slapped him in the face. Derek was looking at them with big worried eyes, standing a couple of feet away from them, ready to intervene at any moment.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean? You think I'm gonna hurt Derek?”

He couldn't even think that, he would never hurt Derek. Ever.

“You did it once,” was the last thing Cora said before she threw the mug in the sink, the sound of breaking porcelain loud in the cold kitchen, and then stormed off.

Stiles felt a shiver run down his back, a chill in his bones, dread seeping deep into his body. He glanced at Derek and he found him already looking back at him, a weird sad expression on his face, pale eyes blinding in the grayish light outside.

“I would never...” Stiles whispered, desperate for Derek to understand that. “Never, Derek.”

Derek's eyes softened and he walked to him, a small terrible smile on his lips that made Stiles' insides squirm, feather touches on Stiles' skin. Stiles felt like the ground was opening under his feet and he was going to fall through it, down down down.

“I'm not afraid of you, Stiles,” Derek murmured against his temple.

Stiles was trembling, breathing hard and with wet eyes, lungs burning and, when Derek hugged him tight, kissed his forehead and cheek and corner of his mouth, Stiles couldn't help but let go of the milk and glass in his hands and throw his arms around Derek.

He felt open raw, used and so scared, confused. He wanted to melt into Derek's embrace, let him hold him and forget for just a moment that Derek died for two entire months and Stiles brought him back, but doing so lost control of his powers. He knew he couldn't really grasp the boundaries of his magic now, he always felt like the magic was stronger than him and used him to destroy everything.

“I'm so sorry,” he cried into Derek's neck, feeling lost but grounded only when Derek was there to keep him whole.

“I know,” Derek said, caressing his back tenderly.

“I'm sorry for everything, I didn't mean to,” Stiles continued, hiding his face more. He couldn't bear to let Derek go now, “I made a mistake and now everything is ruined because of me.”

“Shh,” Derek shushed him, stroked his hair, but Stiles shook his head and stubbornly went on.

“I could bring you back only because you died of _magic_ , Der,” he confessed, in a soft scared voice. Derek stiffened around him. “I hit you with my spell, I killed you. I'm so so sorry. I fucking _hate_ myself, I spent the last months feeling sick and guilty and I just wish I didn't have any magic at all, I would've never hurt you if I was normal, I'm sorry, but don't leave me again, don't let me go.”

He could have babbled for three more hours, could have said that he felt like shit for everything, that he knew Derek was going to hate him now, but Derek stopped him, grabbed Stiles' face in his hands and made Stiles look at him. He was hard but soft at the same time, and Stiles couldn't help but raise his eyes up to Derek's.

“ _Stop_ ,” Derek said, severe and fucking intense. “It wasn't your fault, okay?”

“I did the spell,” Stiles argued, tears hot on his cheeks. “ _I killed you_.”

“It was an accident!” Derek raised his voice, shutting Stiles up. “You didn't kill me on purpose. I know you would never hurt me, like I would never hurt you. I love you.”

Stiles sobbed. “I love you, I love you, but.”

Derek kissed him for a moment and then shook his head, “No buts, you brought me back, you made me whole again and you brought me back. I'm here now, stop punishing yourself.”

Stiles snorted wetly. “Rich coming for you, you still think it's your fault everything happened to your family.”

Derek sighed. “You made me change my mind all those years ago, remember? When you kept pestering me and continuously told me that it was Kate's fault and such,” Derek softly shook him like he wanted to throttle him but couldn't really. “If you hadn't such power, such magic in you, if you weren't this great you never could have brought me back.”

Stiles closed his eyes and clenched his fingers in Derek's soft shirt.

“I'm just so angry all the time,” he said. “I just snap and then I can't stop my magic from snapping, too. I just can't stop myself.”

Then Derek's lips were on his, gentle; Stiles made a soft noise and opened his mouth to deepen the kiss, always eager for more, always ready for Derek. He always wanted to be close, close, closer to Derek.

Derek kissed him hard and deep and long, made him shiver not with anger but with love and warmth and Stiles' head spun, like a carousel, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

“We'll fix that, with time,” Derek said when they broke the kiss, panting and with color high on their cheeks. Stiles loved this man so much, so much. “Together.”

Stiles nodded and smiled, jumped up readily when Derek put his hands on the back of Stiles' thighs, legs closing around Derek's waist. They kissed again, with new fervor and Stiles felt elated, because this was  _ his _ Derek, the one who died, he was here again, soft, gentle and rough at the same time. He held on while Derek walked through the loft, Still kissing, still running his hands trough the soft strands, scratching Derek's beard, until they reached the bed. Derek lowered him on the still messed up sheets, the gray palor coming through the window tinted their room in a soft ethereal light, making Derek look even brighter; the color of his eyes, hair and skin so striking that Stiles couldn't help but reach out and touch. Derek smiled at him and rubbed his scruff on Stiles' jaw, making him shiver and laugh out loud.

This was finally life. He didn't feel angry, or sad. He just felt happy, and filled with love and amazement, and they both took each other's clothes off with grins on their lips, trading kisses and glances; this time, when Derek opened him up with his fingers, Stiles felt at peace, never once thinking about that horrible night. He gasped and moaned and rocked back onto Derek's fingers and tongue, opened himself up more for him, let him take what he wanted and always giving more. He welcomed Derek back with his body and soul and mind, legs curled around Derek's hips and mouths connected.

He felt his magic running through his veins, powerful and bright but it was different from the black cloud hanging around him when he was crazy with rage; it was yellow and warm and glittery; washed upon them like a cloak, a shower of all Stiles' love and feelings – what he felt for Derek, his magic was feeling , too.

When he came – hard and amazing, Derek still inside him, eyes locked – the golden bubble expanded and rattled the things strewn around the room, the couple of pictures hanging on the walls swayed precariously and then fell to the floor, glass breaking.

Derek laughed out loud, for the first time again - head thrown back and crinkled eyes - when he stopped thrusting for a single long moment to assess the damage; and Stiles just had to stare at him, at this beautiful perfect man, laughing curled around Stiles like this was where he really wanted to be and then, right there, with the thrumming through his body - from his hair to the tip of his fingers, his toes - he felt so overwhelmingly _good_ ; right there, all around them, golden shimmery tinkling, Stiles' love was a warm cover for Derek, made to protect him and keep him safe; it was apologizing to him for having done such a terrible thing, taking his life away, and Derek seemed to know – looked back down at Stiles and smiled that private smile, the one just for Stiles, soft fond eyes and pretty pink lips.

Maybe things were better, after all.

*

Things were better, after all. They weren't easy, no, but it was easi _ er _ .

Sometimes, Stiles just had those moments of pure unadulterated rage – those moments where, even when he was doing stupid mundane things like washing dishes, he remembered what happened in that elevator, thought of that other pack, and the only thing he wanted to do was find them and rip their skin off. Make them pay. Suffer. Scream.

He wanted revenge and blood and feel their life slip through his fingers when he chocked them with his magic, with his hands.

It usually ended up with various objects suddenly exploding, or windows cracking, or him getting headaches and nosebleeds. Sometimes he had to just stop, freeze for a second and breathe – had to remember that his power was good, golden and warm; not black, gray and cold. He had to think of Derek, his dad, Melissa and Scott, what would happen if he ever hurt them and he slowly regained control. He could do it. He was working on it.

Derek still had those days where he just didn't do anything; just frowned hard at the wall or the book he was pretending to read, without saying a word for hours. Sat on the couch and let the day pass. Stiles didn't push him, just let him know he was there if he needed, but he let Derek deal with that his own way. Years ago, he would have just pestered Derek to let him in, let him know what was going on, what he could do to help, or just made him talk – but now, he knew it would be better to give him space. If Derek wanted to talk to him, he knew where to find him.

Sometimes Derek did funny things, strange things he never did before. Said things.

Sometimes he recalled the deep cold he felt when he was dead - it was different from the cold he experienced when alive – it was just, colder in a way; deep deep inside his bones, his soul; it was like the chilling feeling you get when you are frightened, the one that starts right from your heart and expands to your limbs and head, slowly but inesorably. It was like being in a costant state of mind numbing fear. All alone, in the dark.

Sometimes he smiled at Stiles for no reason, just because. When Stiles asked him why, Derek said that he wanted to, just that. He touched Stiles when he passed him in the kitchen, or when he got up from the dinner table to get desserts; touched him to scent him, feel his body under his fingers. Grabbed him when they were alone – cleaning dishes, doing laundry, reading bills with the cd Stiles' made when he missed his mom like crazy, the one with Frank Sinatra, David Bowie and The Cure, in the background – and made Stiles dance with him on the perfect words of Frank singing  _ unforgettable, that's what you are. _ Stiles always laughed and laughed, swayed his hips and held on to Derek with affection and love. Derek smiled and kissed him, always; kissed Stiles' lips and knuckles, like the ridicolous man he was, his other arm secured around Stiles' waist; made Stiles feel like he was walking on stars and the luckiest motherfucker in the world.

“You never did this, I didn't even know you could dance!”

Derek laughed, shy and beautiful and then shrugged. “I had to learn because my relatives kept getting married,” he explained. Stiles giggled, imagined a young Derek with his big eyebrows and bunny teeth dancing with his sisters at a wedding. “I like it, though.”

Stiles kissed his nose. “You're good.”

Derek was blushing, a little, and Stiles still found that endearing, even after all those years.

“You're getting good, too. You just have to stop thinking about the steps and just follow my lead.”

Stiles hummed, stroked the back of Derek's head where his hand was resting, got a little bit closer to just gently sway with the tempo of the music,  _ never before has someone been more _ . “I'm pretty sure I could dance at a wedding, now,” he said. “Maybe Scott and Allison's.”

Derek kissed his cheek, smiled against it. “I don't know, maybe.”

“I'll need more lessons, though.”

Derek laughed again, squeezed Stiles' waist and made them do a pirouette.

It was just them dancing and being close, no rush, no danger, just them. Stiles knew it was just a chapter in their life, knew this was a single moment in their history, maybe they would have to fight the following day, or Stiles would've to deal with his powers, but for now, it was perfect.

“I like this,” murmured, head on Derek's shoulder, eyes closed. The song changed into The Cure and still Robert Smith was singing for them. “Promise not to stop.”

“Stop what?”

“This. Dancing, smiling, being close to me. I never thought we would end up dancing in our kitchen, like one of those cheesy movie clichès, but. It's good. Makes me feel good.”

Derek ran his lips delicately from Stiles' temple to his chin, his beard scratching lightly, making Stiles' shiver in his arms. “I won't. I promise.”

Stiles nodded and said, “You know I will kill them, I'll find them and kill them.”

Derek stayed silent for a long moment, then answered, “I know.”

“But I'll need your help, to keep me in line, I need you to be _my_ anchor.”

Derek stopped dancing and just held him, hid his face in Stiles' neck. Stiles did the same, both his arms around Derek's shoulders now, so close to Derek's body he could feel his beating heart right above his own.

“I love you,” Derek whispered, and Stiles was sure Derek was on the verge crying.

He laughed, happy and with his own tears in his eyes, and threw his head back, laughed some more. “Fuck, I love you,  _ we _ should be the ones getting married.”

Derek was staring at him, fond and soft. Stiles was sure his magic was dancing with them, swaying with their bodies and hearts. He felt _everything_ , right that moment. Every cell of his body, every fiber of his being, was singing and in tune with Derek's, the world, the Earth.

“Yeah, okay,” Derek said, and Stiles' magic erupted from him, tinkling merrily, all gold and yellow and glittery.

*

 

 

 

 

 

*

(Stiles did get to kill the pack that ruined their lives. Almost lost his own mind and control doing so. Found them with a locating spell in a forest in Idaho, almost tore his place apart with the fury that entered him. It was like. Not being able to think properly, being driven from desire of vengeance and power – so much power, dark and terrifying in his veins. Derek was the only thing that kept him from going literally berserk on them, on their own pack and family and friends – Scott suffered from a really bad burn when he tried to touch Stiles during one of his bursts; Chris Argent almost shoot him in the head because he was afraid Stiles couldn't stop and the Sheriff almost shoot Chris Argent when he saw the hunter pointing a gun at his son. It was crazy.

But Stiles found the pack. Literally teleported as soon as he knew the precise location of the wolves, scary and so fucking powerful. He was high on magic, never felt so good before – his hands were crackling with power, his head pounding with the thoughs of killing and hurting and make them pay. He felt so much, hot hot hot energy making him sweat, seeing red.

The first one was easy. Crushed her head with the power of his mind, clenched his fist in the air and her head exploded. After that first kill – it was a bloodbath. Screams filled the forest, the stench of fear and blood permeated the air. Stiles was a machine, couldn't stop. He could just tear their skin off, open their chests to cut their hearts out, hang them upside down and make them bleed to death.

He didn't know how much time passed before he heard Derek's voice call out to him. Like a siren. He stopped, looked back at him standing tall and worried on the edge of the forest. Only then he realized he had decimated an entire pack, killed them all and left only the corpses to see. It was awful and terrible and Stiles was drenched in blood that wasn't his, was covered in guts and brains and pieces of people. His magic was subsiding slowly, still making him feel jittery like he was coming down from a right trip, but enough to let him understand the situation.

He felt absolutely broken, sick and terrified and started crying as soon as he saw the first body. He thought he wanted this, wanted to make them pay, but now. Now he just felt like a monster, like someone who couldn't live with himself anymore. Screamed and screamed until his voice was shot, started scratching at his skin and clothes to try and take all the blood and guts off him, panicked so hard he felt like he was spinning, spinning spinning. He didn't know how, but Derek got him to stop; held him even through the mess, the stench and the gore. Carried him to the car and made him strip, change clothes after having washed Stiles off the best he could, made him sit on the backseat.

“Stay here,” said to Stiles. “I'll be back soon.”

And then left.

Stiles was in shock for so long he didn't even realise how much time'd passed between Derek's words and his return. It felt like an eternity and two seconds. Didn't say anything at all, couldn't say anything at all. Just. Stared at his hands in disgust and cried and cried. Derek just pushed him in and drove all the way back to California, stopping just when Stiles needed to vomit or when he felt like having a panic attack. It was slow and awful, and Derek helped him, oh he helped, but Stiles was too out of it to really understand.

Back in Beacon Hills, nobody talked to Stiles about what happened. Slowly Stiles got back to himself and started assessing what he really had done. Became a killer, a fucking black mage, terrifying and driven only by the desire to hunt, kill, getting revenge. Never really realized that the problem was him, him as a person, that he couldn't control his instincts and powers. That he was a horrible person, not a black mage; he would've killed them even if he didn't have any powers, would have shot them and made them pay no matter what.

He was the monster his family was afraid of.

Derek didn't know how to help him, not really. He still had troubles dealing with what happened to himself, still had flashbacks of the great nothing, still felt dead sometimes and with Stiles that way, he felt useless and desperate. He stared at him for hours on end, looked at him in their bed whispering to himself about monsters and fear, looking crazy and deranged. He wasn't afraid of Stiles, but sometimes his magic turned sour and black and Derek loathed those moments, when Stiles was basically poisoning himself to death with his own powers.

Everything was going horribly. They were more apart than ever; really for the first time. Not even when Derek was dead he felt so detached from him; he always felt Derek right deep into his heart then, but now. Now his heart was a black pit of darkness, nothing else. He didn't deserve what he had.

It went on for weeks. Derek wallowing in misery, trying to make Stiles understand that he could go on, even after what happened, that he wasn't lucid, that he needed to try and sleep and eat, for Derek. Stiles looking at Derek with sad eyes and trembling hands, refusing to eat, sleep and go on. It was unbereable and it couldn't end like this, not after all they went through.

In the end it was Lydia who made Stiles understand what he could do from now on: going crazy, starving himself and basically killing himself, leaving his dad, Scott, Derek alone, after all he did to bring him back from the dead. Or he could snap out of it, get back on his feet and realize that yes, he made a mistake, a fucking huge one, but he could fix it. Could be a better man, a better mage, a better person. Could apologize, to her, to his dad, to Derek, and go back to living again. Derek didn't say anything during this spiel, just watched them talk. Stiles was stubbornly listening, even if he seemed like he didn't want to. Lydia then got up and, before she left the room, said, “you really want to make Derek go through what you went through when he died? If you die, he won't have the will to go on. Doesn't have magic spells to bring you back.”

He realized he couldn't leave Derek, not even after what he did. Derek still loved him, so much, and Stiles was selfish – always had been. Couldn't let that go. Let him go.

So he got up again, got back to living, like Lydia had said. He still hated himself, wanted to open his own chest and pull his own insides out, but couldn't leave Derek. Not when Derek was still there, telling him  _ everything would be fine soon, eat Stiles _ . He slept curled around Derek's side and with Derek curled around him; showered with him and ate only when Derek was hungry – which was often, seeing Stiles was still too skinny and tired – and slowly,  _ slowly _ , things got back to normal.

It was a long journey filled with slip ups and days where both of them were too damaged to do any good to the other, but one that made them both stronger and better people, better partners.

Stiles stopped using his magic for quite a while. Too scared to even move a book with the power of his mind, or to get Scott a sandwich without having to get up. He just pointedly ignored the sudden thrum in his fingers from time to time, or the flutter in his belly. The only time when his magic slipped out without him really noticing, was when he was having sex with Derek. It ended up always covering them protectively after Stiles'd orgasmed. Stiles _hated_ it, the reminder of what he was and what he had done, but Derek liked it, said that Stiles accepted him wholly, his magic loved him just as much as Stiles himself.

They still spent days in bed, just being together, fucking and holding each other, rough lips and rougher thrusts, Stiles wanting Derek to feel him, know that he was there for him, always for him. And Derek always responded with his own way to say  _ I came back for you. _

They were broken and ruined and a right mess, but they loved each other too much to let go.

So when Derek grabbed Stiles, one night, and spun him around, making him laugh for the first time since the all evil thing, David Bowie was singing in the kitchen,  _ I'm feeling tragic like I'm Marlon Brando when I look at my China girl, _ \- their family was happily chatting in the living room and Stiles and Derek were putting dessert on plates when Derek recognized the song and put his arms around Stiles' waist, spinning him around - Derek felt like  _ this _ was what he wanted to do again and again and again. He would die and come back again so he could be with this infuriating beautiful man for the rest of their lives.

“I think we're ready for our first dance at a wedding,” he whispered in Stiles' ear.

“Yeah? But I don't think anybody is going to get married really soon,” Stiles replied, silly grin painted on his face. Made Derek want to kiss him and bite him.

“So then maybe _we_ should.”

Stiles gaped at him, big brown eyes and shiny lips all pretty in the warm light of the kitchen, still following Derek's steps and twirls blindly. “Are you asking me to marry you?”

From the living room Derek could hear Cora say, “ _ what?! _ ” and then Scott fall off the chair, and Derek laughed, tightened his grip on Stiles so he could pick him up. Stiles didn't complain, just readily jumped and closed his legs around Derek's waist, his arms around his shoulders, still gaping at him.

“Yeah, I'm asking you to marry me.”

“Oh my God,” Stiles whispered - “ _OH MY GOD_.” Scott shouted, - and then nodded franctically, “fuck yes, are you crazy?”

Derek laughed and kissed him, feeling only joy for the first time in a long time.

Stiles brought him back, and he would stay with Stiles forever. He wasn't going anywhere ever again.

*

“GUYS!” Scott complained from the living room.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> I was watching Buffy for the millionth time the other day and I always thought that Stiles would be Willow, in a possible Buffy/TW crossover - I think that, if someone he really love would die and he had the power to bring them back, he would. No matter what. If that somebody was the love of his life, he would totally become evil!Willow.
> 
> In the end, Stiles does become evil for a while, but never because he lost Derek - but because he loses control of his own powers, the magic makes him do things he probably would never do if he was lucid. Stiles and his powers are a one and separate entity in this story; they are the same but Stiles has a somewhat weak hold on his magic. Ence the violence and gore and the losing his mind bits.
> 
> Trigger warnings for: blood, gore, mentions of vomit, descriptions of corpses, Stiles is in a place where he's being swallowed by guilt and grifs, makes bad choices, doesn't listen to anybody and becomes really violent, becomes a killer and has to deal with the aftermath of it all. Tell me if I forgot to tag something or a warning!
> 
> I wanted to write a story where both Derek and Stiles need each other, where Stiles would do anything to fix what's wrong and where Derek would never leave Stiles, even in death. A story where good and bad go together. Where they can live with grief and guilt and still be able to dance to Frank Sinatra and be happy just because they're together no matter what.
> 
> (i'm just gonna go back on tumblr to watch tyler hoechlin's offensive face.)


End file.
